by Mary Logue
“God, Claire, his wife is dead. What were you thinking?”
“I know, I know. I went and checked on him this morning at the hospital and the nurse called me later today. He’s doing pretty good. Don’t think there’ll be any permanent damage. But he did try to hurt himself.”
“Hurt himself? Is this the latest euphemism for trying to commit suicide?” Rich could feel himself getting mad. It didn’t happen very often, but when it did he had a hard time controlling it. “How could that happen? Don’t you watch for things like that? Wasn’t that the whole point of you taking him in?”
“You think you’re telling me something I don’t know? I already said I made a mistake. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. We’ve found out a few things, but I’d rather not talk about it.”
“I think it’s because you’ve already made your mind up about him. You are so sure that he killed Anne that you don’t really care what happens to him.”
“I am not sure. If there’s one thing I know it’s not to jump to conclusions, but I should remind you that even though he’s your friend, he might have killed his wife. You don’t know that side of people like I do.”
“What about the forensic stuff? What’s it showing?”
“Nothing that I can talk about.”
Rich decided he needed to keep quiet. He shoved some food in his mouth, hoping it would keep him from saying anything more.
But after he had swallowed, the words just popped out. “Oh, so now you can’t tell me about what you’re working on. Usually I can’t get you to quit. Whether I want to hear them or not. But when it’s about someone who’s my friend, who I care about, you decide it should be all hush-hush. So I have to hear about it from Jim and act like I already know. You should have called me the first thing.”
“Rich, you need to calm down.”
He pushed back his chair and stood up. “No, I don’t think I do. I’ve been putting up with your rules for too long. Just because you’re a deputy doesn’t mean you make the laws in this house.”
“I’m just trying to keep the peace.”
“That’s a good one.” Rich felt like if he stayed in the house with Claire any longer he would say some things he would always regret. Better to get out. “I’m going to go and stay at Chet’s tonight. The least I can do for the guy is take care of his animals and watch out for things until he gets back.”
“Until he gets back? Rich, he tried to kill himself. That’s a pretty good indication that he’s guilty. So who knows when or if he will ever get out? Plus, you can’t stay in the house. It’s a crime scene.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re not succeeding. You seem to have made up your mind about Chet, but I haven’t heard that you have any hard evidence or a confession. I’m sure you’d tell me if you did. I’ll stay in the guest cabin that’s behind his barn. Don’t worry about your precious crime scene.”
Rich went upstairs and gathered a few toiletries together in his Dopp kit, grabbed a clean t-shirt and some other clothes and shoved them in a bag.
Claire came and stood in the doorway and watched him. Then she said, “I have some good news. I’m not pregnant.”
Rich turned, wondering what she was up to now, if she was serious. “Did you think you were?”
“Slight possibility.”
“But you didn’t think I needed to know that either? What’s with you? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Wanted to be sure. No need for two of us to worry.”
Sometimes she really didn’t know him at all. “Claire, I wouldn’t have been worried.”
“Well, then I have bad news.”
“What?”
“I think I’m starting into menopause.”
He almost laughed, but turned the sound into a cough. Like this was news to him. “I figured.”
“You did?”
“I read some article on the signs and you were showing a lot of them.” He turned his back on her to finish packing.
Her voice cracked out. “Like what?”
“Like that. Snapping at me. Not sleeping very well. Hotter than a furnace. You never used to sweat. Now sometimes the sweat rolls off you like a farm worker. I vaguely remember my mother having similar problems.”
“That’s real nice. First you say I sweat and then you compare me to your mother. What other complaints do you have?”
“I wasn’t complaining. Just some things I’ve noticed.”
“Do you think you can handle it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Yeah, you could walk out on me and find a younger woman.”
“I’ll think about it.” Rich walked down the stairs with his bag and she followed him.
“Rich, you don’t have to go,” Claire said.
“We need a break. This way I can keep an eye on his place. Who knows what someone might try to do if they know no one’s there. Tell Meg she should do the morning feed for the pheasants.”
“Rich,” Claire said again.
He was glad to hear a slight pleading in her voice, but he was sure of what he needed to do.
When he got to the door, he turned and said to her, “Claire, if I were going to hook up with someone else, I wouldn’t go younger. I think I’d try an older woman. One who’s already done with this shit.”
He let the door slam behind him. He knew she hated that sound.
CHAPTER 11
Where’s Rich?” Meg asked, standing in the kitchen doo way in cut off shorts and an undershirt. She wiped her eyes and looked around the kitchen. “He usually makes the coffee, not you. Is he sick?”
“No. You’re up early,” Claire said after checking the kitchen clock, which read 7:05. Her daughter had caught her anxiously watching the coffee drip through the filter into the waiting pot. This morning she desperately needed a hit of coffee. She hadn’t been able to sleep but a few hours last night. She had to think over all Rich said to her about a million times, wondering and hoping that he might be right about Chet, worrying that her negligence had caused Chet’s suicide attempt.
“You want a cup of coffee?” she asked her daughter.
“Where’d he go? He knows how to make my coffee just the way I like it—better than Starbucks.”
“He’s very temporarily staying up at Chet’s.”
Meg plopped down in a chair at the kitchen counter. “What? Do you mean he moved out? Why?”
“Because I’m a self-centered bitch who always thinks she’s right.”
“He just noticed?” Meg chuckled. “Seriously, where is he?”
“Seriously, he’s at Chet’s. He needed a break from me. I don’t blame him. I can hardly stand me.” Claire was embarrassed to feel tears threatening.
“Oh, Mom, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Meg walked over and, standing shoulder to shoulder with her mother, wrapped an arm around her. “But you have been a little crabby lately. Even Curt noticed.”
“Don’t tell me that. I can’t help it. It’s not my fault.” Claire snuffled back the tears. The last thing she needed to do was break down in front of her daughter. She couldn’t believe how emotional she felt all the time.
“Whose fault is it?” Meg backed off and returned to her chair. “Don’t say it’s mine, because, one, I’ve been in a cheerful mood, and, two, I even cleaned my room. I don’t know if you’ve noticed.”
“It’s certainly not your fault. No, it’s just one of those things.”
“What things?”
“You probably don’t want to hear about this, but I think I’m going into menopause. Your mom’s turning into an old lady.” The coffee was finally ready so Claire poured herself a cup of coffee and offered the pot to Meg.
“We studied that in health at the end of last year. I don’t know how they expect us to remember all this stuff since it’s like a million years away. But menopause doesn’t sound good. It’s like your bones start to crumble and your mind disintegrates.” After pouring herself a slug of coffee, Meg started to
add other ingredients to the cup: sugar, milk, then some cocoa.
“Yeah, that’s it. That’s what’s happening to me.” Claire popped some bread into the toaster. “Rich just needed a breather. Anne’s death has been very hard on both of us.”
“You guys were pretty good friends, weren’t you?”
Claire thought about Meg’s question. “I guess. We really liked each other. I wouldn’t say I felt like I knew her really well. She was younger and more of a housewife than I am. They had that big farm to run: her horses, the dog. But when we got together it was always fun. Chet and Rich were the true friends.”
“Maybe you should marry Rich so he can’t leave you. Just a suggestion in case you never thought about it.”
“I don’t think that makes any difference.” Claire wanted to change the subject. “How’s your darling Curt?”
“He’s scrumptious. Isn’t he the nicest guy, Mom?” Meg smiled up at her with a dark moustache of cocoa powder.
“Lick your lip, honey. Yes, he’s pretty darn nice.”
“Weird to meet someone that nice when I’m this young. I mean, what am I supposed to do if he’s the love of my life? I mean, it’s years before I’d even want to think of marrying someone. A girl’s gotta see a little action.”
“What does that mean?” Claire gave her a sharp look.
“Don’t worry, we haven’t done anything serious yet. We’re still in the talking about it phase.”
“Good. Stay in that phase for about the next four years.”
“Seriously, Mom, when did you have sex for the first time?”
The toast popped up and Claire grabbed for it. “I don’t think I have time for this conversation this morning, darling daughter. And I’m not sure you need to have that information, but I will tell you this—I wasn’t barely sixteen years old.”
Unable to sleep in the heat, Amy woke up early and decided to go into the department where there was air-conditioning. As she threw off the sheet, she thought of Bill’s place. It had air-conditioning, but they weren’t quite at the point of spending every night together.
There was no food in her apartment so she stopped and picked up a cup of bad coffee at the gas station and a soggy donut. This dismal breakfast would keep her going for a while.
Amy was glad to get in early, because she was determined to find the tree guy and she felt like she could only devote a day to it. The sheriff’s department was quiet, a few guys around.
She got on the computer and typed in: Minnesota + “tree services.” Fifty thousand hits came up on Google. Trying to narrow it down, she typed in: Minnesota + “tree removal services.” Not much better. Thirty thousand hits. So she decided she better start close to home. If the tree guy was from Minnesota he was probably from either Wabasha or Red Wing; maybe Lake City, possibly Hastings. She also figured that there was a good chance he owned the company—few employees showed such dedication to their place of employment as to have it tattooed on their arm.
Amy started with Red Wing, which was at the north end of the lake, and only about fifteen miles away from the top of Pepin County. Rather than using Google she’d try the phone book. After scouting around the office, she found a year-old Red Wing phone book.
There were six tree service companies. She decided to start with Red Wing Tree Removal Services. Pretty straight forward. Even though it was seven in the morning, she figured it wasn’t too early to call. Tree guys would be on farm time.
An answering service picked up. She left a message.
The second company she tried—Halsten Bros. Tree Trimmers—she got a person on the other end of the line. “Yes, I’m wondering if you do work in Wisconsin?”
“Depends,” the gruff man’s voice answered. “Where you at?”
“Pepin.”
“Sure, we go over that a way. What’s your problem?”
“Well, actually I’m calling from the sheriff’s department of Pepin County. I’m Deputy Amy Schroeder. I’m trying to track down a missing person and I’m wondering if any of your workers have gone missing.”
“Are you serious? Is this for real?”
“Yes, sir. We have found a body of a man in Lake Pepin and have reason to believe that he might have been working for a tree removal company.”
“Geez, I read about that yesterday in the paper. It’s just me and my brother working together. I saw my brother yesterday so I know he hasn’t gone missing. Once in awhile, if we get real busy we hire some extra hands, but we don’t have anyone else right now. Don’t think I can be much help.”
“Before I let you go, can I ask you one more question?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you know a tree guy who wears a red t-shirt with the logo of a tree on it?”
Silence for a moment, then, “Doesn’t ring a bell.” “Well, thank you anyway.”
Amy wrote the name of the company down and put a check next to it. She had a feeling it was going to be a long day.
* * *
Claire ended up spending most of the morning at her desk, filling out paperwork from the latest break-in in town, which had happened a few days before the floater was found. Since meth had hit their small county, break-ins had become much more frequent.
When she called the hospital, they said Chet Baldwin would be ready to leave later in the day. Claire asked to speak to his nurse.
When the woman came on, Claire asked, “How’s he doing?”
“Still rather out of it. We’ve tapered off the sedative. He seems to be coming around. The psychiatrist was in this morning and he felt that Mr. Baldwin could leave the hospital as long as he was being watched. The endoscopy came back showing minimal damage to his throat and larynx. So he should be good to go.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “He seems like such a nice guy. Did he really kill his wife and then try to kill himself?”
“He hasn’t been charged with a crime—we’re still looking into it.” Claire caught herself wanting to spout some babble like even good people can do bad things, but she simply thanked the nurse and said she’d be there to pick him up at three.
After going out on a call—an older woman in Durand had
had her garden tore up by some kids—Claire came back to the department and checked in with the hospital again. This time the nurse on duty said Mr. Baldwin was ready to be released.
Claire asked to talk to the deputy on duty there, who turned out to be Pete. When he came to the phone, she asked him how Chet seemed.
“He’s moving kinda slow, but he’s moving.”
Kinda slow actually described Pete. He was a hulk of a man who didn’t do anything fast. “You’re just about to go off duty, aren’t you, Pete?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you bring him down to the lobby and wait for me. I’ll pick him up and you can go on home.”
When she walked into the hospital, Claire saw Chet sitting in a wheelchair by the front desk and Pete, all two hundred and fifty pounds of him, standing right next to him, one hand on the grip of the chair.
Chet looked up as Claire walked over, his head rising slowly on the stalk of his thin neck. She was surprised by how pasty his face was. Bruising still circled his neck and he sat hunched over in the wheelchair, looking like he belonged in it.
Chet was a tall, lanky man. Claire had always thought of him as strong and agile, outdoor work and hunting kept him in good shape. But today he looked old and decrepit.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked him.
He reached out his hand toward her in an informal shake.
She took his hand and he gave it a tentative squeeze, again not the usual Chet handshake.
“Not great. Claire, I’m sorry to be putting you in this position. I feel awful. The doctors tell me I did quite a number on myself. What was I thinking?”
“Well, let’s go back to the government center and we can talk about what has happened. We’ve got a therapist coming in to see you.”
“Oh, now, I don’t need a
nyone like that. I just want to go home. Can you take me home?”
“Chet, you’re in no shape to go home. We need to talk to you about what happened to Anne.” Claire dropped his hand. She was paying attention to the way he had phrased that last sentence he said to her before he had tried to hang himself: all my doing, but not I did it. Big difference there. “Wait until we’re back at the sheriff’s department.”
Chet’s head came up and he said with some feeling, “Claire, for god’s sake, don’t act like you don’t know me. You’ve had dinner at my house. I’m not going anyplace. You’ll hear the whole story. But right now I really need to go home. Could you just take me back?”
Claire didn’t want to get into it with him in the hospital. She nodded at the deputy, who now had both hands on the wheelchair grips and was ready to push the wheelchair. “Let’s go. I’m parked right out front.”
When they got to the squad car, Chet stood and made a move to sit in the front seat, but Claire ushered him into the back. She didn’t want to take any chances with Chet this time. She would bring him in right and by the book.
As she drove him the few blocks to the government center, he asked if Rich had been feeding the animals.
“Oh, yeah. In fact, he’s staying in your cabin to keep an eye on things.” Claire hoped he wouldn’t ask any questions about that.
“Oh, geez, he didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, it just worked out for him.”
“If you’d just take me home, I could take care of everything. Rich doesn’t need to be there.”
Claire parked right in front of the door to the sheriff’s department and, as the back doors were locked, walked around the car to open the door.
When she pulled the car door open, Chet erupted from the seat and shoved into her as hard as he could.
Totally taken by surprise, Claire went flying and landed on her butt while Chet took off running across the parking lot. As she scrambled to her feet, he disappeared into the woods.
